Black Sheep
by Madam Mimm
Summary: The newly married Daphne Crane, her husband Niles and brother-in-law Frasier are all off to London for a massive Moon reunion. Worryingly, so is the Black Sheep of the family, as it were, with his long suffering cohorts Manny and Fran
1. Chapter 1

Daphne fidgeted, adjusting her seat, opening the tray in front of her, closing it again, fumbled with the seat buckle and then twisting around in her seat.

"Sweetheart, please." Niles tried to placate her, sitting next to her after he had finished stowing the bags in the overhead compartment. "Calm down. I'm sure things won't be that bad."

"Won't be that bad?" Daphne repeated, fixing her husband with an incredulous gaze. "You've seen my family. Think of my mother's most hideous moments, my father's most loutish behaviour, factor in all my brothers, including the four you haven't met, now imagine the genetic minefield covering an entire room!"

Niles suppressed a shudder, shooting a nervous glance over at Frasier for support, but his brother was busy interrogating a stewardess about the serving conditions for the on-flight wine. He gave Daphne a reassuring smile.

"Look, it's going to be alright." He put his arm around her, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Frasier and I will both be with you, and besides that we'll be in the middle of London. There will be plenty of opportunities to lose ourselves in a crowd should the opportunity arrive."

"I suppose." Daphne smiled apologetically, somewhat calmed. "Thank you for agreeing to come to this with me. I know my family aren't exactly your kind of people..."

"Hey. We're married now; we are each other's people. I wouldn't dream of leaving you to go to England for two weeks on your own." They kissed. "And besides, Frasier heard we were going to London and he just had to come. I hope, after all that speech he gave us on the way here, he can actually find a Royal Shakespeare Company production..." Niles trailed off, as the stewardess took her position at the front of the plane and began demonstrating safety proceedings. Daphne tried to settle herself, but she was still nervous.

This was to be a family gathering of epic proportions. Both her maternal and paternal relatives, not to mention siblings, spouses, aunts, uncles and cousins that had previously (and perhaps for the greater good,) scattered themselves across the globe were not to be gathered in one hotel ballroom for Grammy Moon's ninetieth birthday. Daphne had considered this was somewhat counter-productive, celebrating that the woman had lived so long by putting her in the best situation to provide a heart attack. But then, perhaps her mother was that desperate to get at the old woman's pension fund.

No, that was a horrible thing to think. Horrible, but not necessarily unlikely. Daphne shook her head, and focused on the safety instructions. She was being silly. This was her family, the people who, although misguided at times, loved her no matter what. Niles was there, and so was Frasier. How bad could it honestly be?

The 8am flight from Seattle coincided nicely, thanks to the time zones, with a sleepy, grotty little bookshop in Bloomsbury stirring into life, a good few hours behind everyone else. A short, hairy man in a Hawaiian shirt casually waved a duster at the towering piles of old hardbacks, and flicked through the mail, selecting all the ominous final notices and filing them in the time-honoured fashion (i.e. in the wastepaper bin). He found a cream coloured envelope, with a familiar name written in calligraphic scrawl. Puzzled and curious that such a nice envelope should be addressed to such a dingy hovel, he dropped it on his employer's desk.

"Bernard?" He walked into the kitchen, calling up the stairs. "Bernard!"

"G-Jjaah!" Bernard Black shot up from his place beneath the kitchen table, his wild black hair somehow even messier than usual, and his bleary eyes suggestive of the immense hangover that was brewing in his cranium. "Manny, why am I on the floor?"

"I don't know... how much did you drink last night?"

"No more than usual." Bernard crawled out and stumbled to his feet. He then stumbled some more. "Well... maybe a little. But I had lots of water. In that big... glass bottle... in the fridge..." Manny gazed at him, piteously. Bernard continued. "The one with the red lid... and... and the label... the label that said..." Bernard suddenly clutched the chair in front of him, and pressed a hand to his forehead. "And that was vodka, wasn't it?"

"Bernard, you have gone through three bottles of wine and one bottle of vodka. On your own."

"Well of course." Bernard snapped, stumbling through the curtain separating the kitchen from the shop. "Of course I drank them on my own. You weren't bloody there, were you? Hmm?" He gazed at Manny, somewhere between scorn and betrayal. "You were off on your... your date." He spat, rummaging in his coat pockets for a packet of cigarettes. "With Rowena the clinically mad."

"She's not mad, Bernard."  
"She finds you attractive." Bernard countered, without tearing his gaze from his cigarette as he lit it and felt the slight relief of nicotine. "And Fran wasn't here. She was at the library doing her damn family tree. Geneaology. Phah. What good has finding out about family ever done... any... Manny what's this?" Bernard was distracted by the pretty envelope, out of place on his desk.

"It came in the post." Manny shrugged, flipping the sign on the shop door from "Closed" to "Closed". Bernard frowned at his name, staring back at him in curling black ink, before flipping the envelope over and ripping it open. An ornate, printed card fell onto his desk. Bernard picked it up. He read it. He screamed. Manny jumped in shock, and fell face-first on the floor, knocking down an avalanche of books. Bernard was aware the noise should have destroyed his dehydrated synapses, but he was too much in a state of catatonic shock to be conscious of such piddling things as hangovers. This was much more devastating.


	2. Chapter 2

Bernard mumbled into his desk deliriously as Fran and Manny stood watching him with morbid curiosity.

"And he hasn't moved?"

"No..." Manny shook his head, watching his employer slowly turn mad with bug-eyed fear. "He screamed, collapsed onto his desk and then I called you. But he hasn't moved." Fran grimaced, and slowly edged closer to Bernard, levering herself into the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Bernard?" She spoke in a slow, soothing tone that didn't quite hide her nerves. "Are you ok?"

"Ngggg... no." He managed to drag his head off the desk long enough to give her the forlorn look of a man sentenced to death, before pressing his hands over his eyes and becoming stationary again. "Wine... I need wine..."

"Bernard, what's going on?" Manny gave a nervous smile, but recoiled as Bernard hollered "Wine!" with more vehemence than Manny had thought possible. Yes, Bernard liked to make out he was victimised by his surroundings, but this was extreme, even for him. Manny shuffled quickly into the kitchen as he was ordered, not daring to question any more. Only when Manny had returned with both glass and bottle, and Bernard had drained one and made an impressive attempt on the other, did he sit upright in his chair, and look from Fran to Manny and back again, slowly regaining his composure.

"Gertrude." He growled, filling every letter with as much contempt as it could stow, creating verbal sausages of gelatinous bile. This feat of scorn was apparently lost on his companions, though, who continued to gaze at him with wide, frightened eyes. Bernard sighed, and stabbed the invitation with his finger. "My aunt Gertrude has decided to invite me to Grammy Moon's ninetieth birthday party."

"And... that's... bad?" Fran hazarded, her eyes moving slowly between Bernard and the invite, trying to figure out the exact point he was trying to make.

"Oh, it's worse than bad. It's catastrophic. It's hideous. P.G. Wodehouse could have a lovechild with Stephen King and it could be trained for years in every language of the world, and it would still fail to fully express the sheer, unearthly horror that awaits me, should I answer this invite. I haven't been invited to any family functions, maternal or paternal, for quite some time."

"Why?"

"That's..." Bernard paused, shifting slightly. "That's not important. The point is that I haven't seen any of these people for years, and it's not a habit I intend to break."

"Oh come on, Bernard." Fran soothed. "It can't be that bad. Maybe it's a chance to make amends."

"Ohh no." Bernard laughed bitterly. "No, you don't know Gertrude. She would only have invited me as a distraction for all those beer-swilling louts she calls her sons. That sounds about right; if they're beating me senseless, they can't be stealing Grammy's presents or setting things on fire... Unless "things" mean me..." He grimaced, and rooted himself deeper in his chair. Fran raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. Bernard shook his head, a quaver of fear in his voice.

"I'm not going. For one thing, they're all completely irrational. Utterly insane. For God's sakes, Fran, they're from Manchester. Manchester! Even the gay one could beat me to a pulp. And that's not to mention the drinking..." Manny made an odd noise, which Bernard took to be a stifled laugh, a theory reinforced by the Troll-like figure flushing red when Bernard scowled at him. "Yes, I am licensed to talk, on this occasion. Believe me; they make me look like a health fanatic. I'm not going."  
"Bernard..."

"I would rather stay here and remain alive, thank you." Bernard scowled at Fran, and stood, sweeping into the kitchen. Fran and Manny exchanged glances. There was a string of clattering, the lacklustre cacophony suggestive more of a clock-work monkey toy with cymbals than an aggravated drummer; the noise was being made because it felt the only outcome in this situation, rather than because of any passion. After a while, it stopped.

"You should talk to him." Fran turned to Manny, who backed away smartly.

"Oh no, I'm not talking to him." Manny shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor.

"Manny..." Fran stood, her tone inconspicuous except for the slight underlining growl, like a panther hiding underneath a park bench, or a skinhead dressed up as a nun.

"No." Manny squeaked, completely failing to make a stand. "You've known him longer, you talk to him."

"No... No this really needs to be a... umm..." Fran struggled for an excuse. "A man to man thing. I'm just a silly girl, I'd get all emotional." Manny made another stifled snort sound, and Fran scowled, her mouth set in a line so thin and hard that Manny began to wonder if it had disappeared completely. He was saved from a rant, though, by Bernard's voice cutting through from the kitchen.

"Neither of you "needs" to talk to me. I'm going to do some reading in my room. Manny, shred that invite, and take care of the shop." There was a heavy, retreating clumping of boots as Bernard wandered up the stairs, and Manny shrugged, crossing to the desk. He picked up the invitation, but Fran stopped him, taking it from him and looking it over.

"Don't do anything just yet." Fran had a distant look in her eye, glazed with a million invisible blueprints and preliminary sketches. Manny hated that look. He didn't see it often, but when she was scheming it was always a little worrying. Partly because he had the feeling he would be involved in some way. Fran picked up her handbag and headed for the door, taking her glasses out of her bag, the invitation still in her hand.

"Fran? Where are you going?"

"I just need to check something. I'll be back in a while." Fran mumbled as she left. The door closed behind her, the sign reading "closed" on the door flipping over as it swung shut, revealing the other side of the card... which also read "closed". Manny shook his head, and decided to just serve any customers that came into the shop, and leave Bernard to sulk. The man was a realm of logic unto himself, and besides, Manny didn't mind having the shop to himself all day. It was a chance for him to avoid fastidious cleaning.

Fran had been pacing London, between her flat, hotels and libraries for a good six hours (well, four, but she had a break for lunch and got changed,) and eventually she found herself stood in the arrivals lounge of Gatwick airport with a sign she had made out of a sheet of card and some marker pens she had picked up at the mandatory branch of W. H. Smiths that sat nestled between two Starbucks in the strip of duty free shops. She had racked her brains; thinking of any time Bernard had shared anything with her about his family, and eventually managed to come up with one name. Daphne Moon. If she remembered correctly, the lanky Mancurian had helped Bernard set up shop for the first time in Black Books, before leaving for America. She wasn't sure what had happened to her after that, but apparently there had been a booking made in the hotel listed on the invitation for Daphne and Niles Crane. It was a long shot, but Fran had a good feeling about it. She hoped she was right. She did hate seeing Bernard moping around in such a state, billowing and saggy like a slowly deflating slug. Hopefully, this cousin might be able to cheer him up, and maybe convince him to try and rectify this family spat.

Eventually, a crowd from the Seattle flight bustled into the lounge, and Fran held up her feeble marker-pen sign. Eventually, two men in suits and a woman in a smart blouse and black slacks caught her eye. The woman approached; a look of apprehension on her face. Fran made a similarly nervous smile, and put down her sign, extending her hand.

"Daphne Moon?"

"I was." The brunette nodded, eyes narrowed slightly. "I wasn't told there'd be a driver waiting for us..."

"Oh, I'm not a driver. I'm... a friend of family." Fran gave a slight, awkward bob at the knees, awkward as Daphne shook her hand, suddenly aware of what an odd thing it was she was doing.

"Oh, God." Daphne growled, rolling her eyes. "What did Simon do now?"

"Simon?" Fran repeated, shaking her head. "I don't know a Simon. No, I'm a friend of Bernard's?"Daphne suddenly became very quiet, her gaze a little out of focus. Fran was suddenly worried. "B... Bernard Black?"

"I know who you mean." Daphne suddenly sounded much less purposeful. "Where is he?"

"Oh, he's still in the shop... you see... look, I hope you don't think I'm meddling, but he got invited to this reunion thing and he says he won't go, but I think it'd be good for him. I just... I thought maybe you could talk him around?"

Daphne fixed her with a strange look, one that Fran couldn't quite decipher.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Fran, Fran Katzenjammer." She flashed another awkward smile.

"Alright..." Daphne spoke slowly, before turning back to the two men, who were watching her carefully. "Do you two want to go on ahead to the hotel? It appears I have an old cousin to greet."

"Well... if you're sure you'll be ok." The smaller of the two men grimaced, taking Daphne's case from her.

"I'll be fine."

"Well... alright. We'll see you later." They kissed, and then she hugged the larger of the men, and they both left. Fran looked at Daphne, and awkwardly shifted under her scrutinising gaze.

"Come on then, let's go." Daphne strode off, Fran only able to keep up with her thanks to her similar height and build.

It was half eight in the evening before Bernard clumped downstairs, glaring reproachfully at Manny.

"Do we have any more wine?" He shot a petulant scowl at Manny, standing resolutely in the kitchen doorway and glaring halfway across the shop to where Manny stood innocently.

"Uh... no..." Manny stammered, looking around with wide eyes. "But I could run out and get some, if you want." Bernard looked a little taken aback by this, and slumped into his chair, resigned that he had even lost the energy to be unjustifiably cruel to Manny.

"No." He spat, glaring at his desk. "Just get me a cup of tea, would you?"

"Uh... right, Bernard." Manny edged around Bernard's desk, shooting him an awkward glance as they both avidly avoided each other's eye contact. There followed a moment of hideous embarrassment as both men felt the need to say something and to remain deadly silent simultaneously. There was a near inaudible mumbling from both, as Manny continued to edge into the kitchen, but the situation was saved as Fran opened the door, smiling loftily at Bernard.

"Oh Christ." Bernard rested his head in his hands. "What do you want now?"

"I want you to say "thank you Fran, you're a wonderful person"." Fran beamed, stepping further into the shop. Bernard looked up, utterly confused.

"Why on earth would I say that?" Bernard mumbled as he lit up a cigarette, slowly looking up at Fran. "What could you possibly... oh..." He mumbled, eyes catching on the figure in the doorway. At first, he didn't recognise the tall, skinny brunette in the doorway, a slight apprehension behind her smile. But when her eyes finished roving around the dark cobwebs of the shop, she looked at him with that familiar, shining smile.

"Hello Bernard."

"Daphne..." Bernard stared with wide-eyed shock, cigarette ash slowly accumulating on his desk. "I... um... hi..."

"Well, hug me, you daft fool!" Daphne laughed, sweeping into the shop and embracing Bernard as he stood awkwardly, and let himself be hugged, with a slight grimace.

"Fran, how..."

"I'll just be... in the kitchen..." Fran smiled, edging past them and through the curtain. Bernard cleared his throat, and a hideous, heavy silence descended. After a while, Daphne began to wander around the shelves, running a hand across the books.

"It's... nice." She tried, not looking at him. "Could do with a good clean."

"I don't have time." Bernard dismissed, sitting back in his chair and taking a drag from his cigarette.

"No... I can tell..." She raised a scrutinising eyebrow in Bernard's general direction. He shifted uncomfortably. Another awkward pause, sitting between them like an untended pile of rhino dung that you knew you would have to get rid of, but a sense of common decency told you not to alert attention to it.

"Smoke?" Bernard offered her the packet, but she shook her head.

"I don't."

"Oh... of course, I should have remembered." He slowly returned the pack to his pocket, still puffing on his own. "After all those lectures you used to give me... It's been a while." He looked up at her, and their eyes locked. She smiled awkwardly, and he did his best to return it.

"You weren't at my wedding, Bernard."

"Neither were you."

"I meant the other one."  
"Was that the drive through, the registry or the sham?"

"Bernard!" Daphne sighed, scowling at him. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you, for heaven's sake."

"Well I'm sorry, I'm no good at conversations." Bernard snapped back, tapping away his cigarette ash in an authoritarian gesture. "Besides, what kind of a conversation starter is that?" he tutted, not looking at her. "Besides, there's no point. I know all I need to know about what you've been doing with yourself for the last few years."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Just because I'm blacklisted, doesn't mean your mother and mine don't both gossip for hours on end. You know, I sometimes wish I had a sister, just so Ma would try telling her for a change."

"Ah." Daphne smiled, perching on the edge of Bernard's desk. "They always did go on. So what exactly has she been telling you?"

"No." Bernard shook his head. "What you should be asking is; "What exactly have I been paying attention to?" And, thankfully for you, the answer is "Not very much." But I'm sure I know enough." He looked up at her and smiled. It was a weary, apologetic smile. "I am sorry, Daphne. For what I did."

"I know." Daphne smiled back, patting his hand. "If anything, things probably worked out better... in the long run." Bernard made a derisive snort, and rubbed a hand over his face. "So are you going to this party, then?" Bernard made a strangled, shrieking laugh, and looked at her with wide eyes.

"You are joking, aren't you?"

"Oh come on..."

"No! I'm not going to volunteer myself as punching bag to those brute brothers of yours."

There was a silent pause, while Daphne stared intently at the back of Bernard's head. After a while, she cleared her throat.

"It would make me really happy if you came."

"Alright, alright, fine." Bernard leapt up, suddenly exasperated.

"You'll go?"

"We'll see." Bernard scowled as Daphne gave a superior smile. "Scheming hussy."

"Perhaps." Daphne stood and hugged Bernard again, and this time he was a little more comfortable with it. Not entirely, but a little. "Come visit us at the hotel, I'd love you to meet my husband and his brother."

"And what if I don't want to?" Bernard shot her a smile.

"Well then we'll come and visit you." Daphne stuck her tongue out at him, and checked her watch. "I really should get back to the hotel. I'll see you tomorrow. It was great to see you, Bernard."

"Daphne..." He smiled at her, genuine emotion in his eyes. "Thanks. For... everything."

"Just remember, you owe me." She smiled at him, and left. Bernard took a long, final drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out in his ashtray, before swiftly turning around and ripping the curtain open, revealing Fran and Manny standing in the kitchen doorway, stooped over double as they tried to listen inconspicuously. Fran was practically sitting on Manny's back, and both of them looked up at Bernard with eyes similar to those you see on rabbits in the instant before they are forced to become very friendly with a truck travelling at sixty miles an hour. Bernard looked at them with as much disdain as he could muster, and, with the carefully timed raising of an eyebrow, created a shockwave of sheer contempt, sending them both stammering and staggering.

"Go home. Go to sleep." He looked from one to the other, the ghost of a smile creeping across his lips. "We won't be opening shop tomorrow. We shall, though, be heading to a rather posh hotel to pay some relatives a visit. I suggest you get your beauty sleep." He began to walk upstairs, leaving Fran and Manny in shocked surprise. They looked at each other with amazed, open mouths, waiting for the sound of Bernard's door to slam shut before they began to dance around the kitchen.


End file.
